Tomorrow Came Too Soon
by Caitlin-and-Emily
Summary: At long last, the trio returns to Hogwarts for the last time. With Harry set to defeat Voldemort once and for all, Ron and Hermione are left alone with a long repressed romance. Does NOT follow the HBP! Main pairing RWHG! Please review!
1. Waiting

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns both _Harry Potter_ and my soul.

Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her last year of school. Harry has dedicated himself to fighting Voldemort, leaving her and Ron to wander through the days together. Over six years of repressed feelings are thrust onto center stage, and in times of danger and tragedy, it becomes apparent that love is the only thing worth fighting for. This story does **_not_** follow _The Half Blood Prince _in anyway whatsoever. Kindly humor me and pretend the trio's sixth year was full of nothing more than typical teenage angst and uncontrollable hormones. And now, without further ado, I present "Tomorrow Came Too Soon."

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Chapter 1: Waiting

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Night fell hard over the sleepy English town, draping the winding roads with stillness and peace. The only sound was the rhythmic chirping of the crickets as they hid in the dark, grassy lawns. The moon bathed every building and every tree with a soft, glowing light. Tiny homes crowded the narrow streets. It was simple town full of simple people. 

One of these typically plain homes lay at the end of a particularly tiny lane, behind a large oak tree and overgrown bushes. From one small, open window on the side of the house, a vibrant yellow light pierced through the calm night. Within the room, books had been crammed haphazardly onto shelves, creating a strange mosaic of literature. Long rolls of parchment were draped over the aging mahogany desk that sat in the far corner of the room. The lamp producing the offending beam of light stood tall next to the closet door. And on the bed, stretched out over the handmade quilt, was one Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger was an odd sort of girl. Her hair was wild and seemingly unmanageable, twisting out in every which way. From time to time, the young girl would push a few stray chestnut strands away from her face, only to have them fall back in place a few moments later. Her chocolate colored eyes traced the old familiar cracks along the ceiling, squinting whenever something seemed out of place. Releasing a long sigh full of boredom and impatience, she drew herself up and stared out the window. She knew she morning would be here soon to carry her away.

It felt strange already, this waiting. Waiting to travel to the Burrow for the last days of summer. Waiting to see friends she missed so dearly. Waiting to board the train and return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the last time. Waiting to achieve something greater than this horribly plain town. Waiting to become something more. Waiting to say goodbye.

She was ready for those changes, of that there was no question. Yet it was that dreadful in between phase that made her skin crawl and her mind scream. Hermione Granger did not wait for life to come to her; she sought the very art of living with a passion and vigor very few have ever had the pleasure to bear witness to. But watching the minutes pass by one after another, she accepted that time was, in that moment, untouchable.

Resting her chin comfortably atop her folded hands, she cast her doe eyes across the night landscape before her. Her mind raced through the checklist of things she would need in the coming months. Her schoolbooks, her homework, her uniform were all carefully arranged in her large, black trunk resting silently by the front door. There was nothing left to be done, only to wait. Hermione's eyelids grew heavy as she listened to the crickets' gentle melody. Knowing the sun would awaken her in only a few short hours, she let herself be carried off to sleep by the cool night air.

* * *

It was in that awkward position of balancing on the windowsill that Hermione awoke the next morning. She arose slowly from the chair she had been sitting on, extending her arms toward thelow ceiling. The sun had illuminated the atmosphere, revealing lush, green hills and brightly coloredflowers blossoming all over. Hermione smiled a small, wistful grin, knowing this was the last time she would look across this scenery for a very long time. 

Making her way to the impeccably organized kitchen, she bid her parents good morning as they sat happily at the table, enjoying their breakfasts. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and grabbed a piece of toast before joining them in their content state.

"Excited, dear?" Her mother asked with a knowing smile.

"Mmhmm," Hermione responded through a mouthful of bread.

"What time will your friends be arriving?" Her father inquired, bringing his steaming up of tea up to the thick moustache covering his mouth.

"Um," Hermione turned her focus to the oven clock, somehow hoping it would provide the answer she was searching for. "I'm not quite certain. I think they said around lunchtime perhaps."

The meal continued with quiet conversation, each party aware that this simple routine would be very shortly interrupted. Hermione's mother insisted that she eat more than a single piece of toast. Her father wisely avoided this particular bit of nagging, and instead redirected their chatter towards the news and other such things. They sat at the table a very long while, reveling in their last moments of togetherness before outside responsibilities encroached on their time.

The hour passed to ten and the small family knew they could no longer put off the inevitable. Hermione arose and made her way back to her room, searching for anything forgotten once again. Gathering a few inconsequential trinkets, she hurried to her trunk and set them atop a pile of folded school uniforms. Choosing to waste her final moments at home by enjoying a long, hot shower, she grabbed a towel out of the linen closet and shut herself in the bathroom.

* * *

Emerging from the steam-filled room feeling both refreshed and on edge, Hermione dressed quickly and returned to the front room. Her mother sat knitting something or other, allowing the warm sun rushing in through the large picture window to caress her skin. Hermione made herself comfortable in an antique armchair, saying nothing as she watched her mother knit. She wished for a moment that time would freeze at that very second, leaving her to remain forever surrounded by this sense of security and family. 

But the sudden rumbling of a very old car as it maneuvered carefully down the narrow lane assured that no such event would occur.

* * *

The past twenty minutes had been a blur to Hermione. She vaguely recalled Fred and George and their maniac smiles bursting into her living room. Her luggage had been quickly packed into the tiny car, another one of Mr. Weasley's endeavors into the mystery that was muggle living. The goodbyes seemed as if they had occurred years ago. There had been crying, of that she was sure. Yet, the clever witch could not recall whose tears had filled the tiny living room with a sense of loss.

"How's your summer been, Mione?" Fred's obscenely cheerful voice asked, ripping through her opaque train of thought.

"Lovely," she replied with a scowl. "But may I suggest never calling me 'Mione' again?"

"Yes, Fred," George concurred. "We wouldn't want her ruining your ever so charming face with a particularly nasty hex, now, would we?"

"Do not joke about such serious travesties," Fred admonished, his features schooled to a perfect look of horror.

Hermione couldn't resist a hearty laugh at the twins' antics.

"Now where is that laughter coming from?" George peered into every obscure crevice of the entirely too small car.

"Surely not from that terribly serious witch in the back seat!" Fred exclaimed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fred," George rolled his eyes for effect. "Such somber beings do not partake in such trivial indulgences!"

"You two never quit do you?" Hermione was acutely aware of a sharp pain in her lungs as she gasped for air. Nonetheless, she could not find the willpower to stop laughing.

"Never, my dear," George assured.

"I don't see how your mother survives with you two," Hermione struggled to regain her breath. "Honestly, you two are more than I could handle! Let alone you and five other children!"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," George eyed her quizzically.

"Yes," Fred nodded his agreement. "We are perfectly civilized adults."

"Civilized adults do not make a habit of leaving dung bombs in professors' desks," Hermione pointed out.

"Ah, yes," Fred was suddenly lost in the memory, a reminiscent grin spreading across his freckled face. "That was a good one. Did you see the look on Snape's face?"

"Priceless," George responded. The same far away look had spread to his face as well.

Hermione settled into her seat as the twins recounted old pranks and noteworthy explorations. Her head bobbed up and down as the car traveled down a seldom used road. Green meadows streaked in a haze. The outside world seemed to blend together as they sped through the countryside. And for just a moment, Hermione was perfectly content watching everything pass by.

"How is everyone?" Hermione spoke up, suddenly curious.

"Well mum in a fit trying to cook enough food to feed all of England," George informed her.

"Oh, she needn't worry herself!" She said pointlessly, knowing there was no curing Molly Weasley's cooking addiction. "I don't want to be a burden."

"Cooking isn't exactly a burden," George assured her. "It's more like a necessity."

"Yes, cooking and breathing," Fred added. "That's really all she needs."

"What about sleep?" Hermione pondered. The twins laughed loudly before replying.

"Please, Hermione," Fred shook his head. "You do not raise seven children without learning to live without the nuisance of sleeping."

"Good point," Hermione admitted. "And the others?"

"Dad's been busy at work," Fred continued. "He's got a lot of new projects developing, apparently. He seems oddly enthused by the prospect."

"Bill and Charlie are all well and good," George picked up. "We went to visit Charlie in Egypt a few weeks ago, actually."

"I know," she smiled. "Ginny mentioned it in an owl awhile back."

"I suppose she would have," Fred acknowledged. "She's become very…what's the word, George?"

"Loud? Domineering? Terrifying?" George supplied.

"All of the above, I'd say," Fred answered.

"Oh please," Hermione scoffed. "She's almost sixteen! Just because you can't boss her around anymore does not mean she becoming some officious control-freak!"

"Really?" The twins seemed genuinely shocked by this revelation.

"Huh," Fred shrugged.

"I know," George commented. "And here I was worried she was planning on make us her loyal servants."

"Well, I wouldn't put that past her," Hermione said.

"I'd like to her make Percy wash her socks or something," George smiled at the thought.

"He probably would, spineless git," Fred muttered bitterly.

"Still on that, are you?" Hermione asked, recalling how hard Percy's change of character had been on the Weasley family.

"Well, mum and dad won't talk about it," Fred admitted. "And Bill and Charlie stay out of it."

"But you should see Ginny and Ron have at him," George's smile only grew wider. "Ron just nearly hexed good old Percival into oblivion the last time he was over."

"Really?" Hermione now smiled as well. She had no trouble imagining Ron losing his temper.

"Yup," Fred confirmed proudly. "Thank goodness that boy hasn't learned to channel his anger or any of that bullocks."

"Speaking of Ronnikins," George began. "He's been awfully busy this summer."

"That he has," Fred nodded. "He and Ginny do almost two hours of Quidditch practice everyday, now. Don't know why, honestly. Mum can't stand them being out on their brooms all day."

"He's been helping us at the joke shop, as well," George added. "We're already anticipating the start-of-school rush."

"Right you are, George," Fred grinned at his twin. "Be sure to stop in on the first Hogsmead weekend. We'll give you a discount since you're practically family, as it were."

"I'm touched," Hermione smiled. She was well aware that she would more than likely never find anything of use in a joke shop. However, she made a mental note to have a look around and at least appear to be interested.

"And here we are," George spread his arms as wide as the cramped car would allow.

"Home, sweet home," Fred grinned happily.

Hermione glance out the window and saw the inviting home in just down the hill. The smell of home cooked food filled the air with its enticing aroma. Voices and laughter sounded from inside and outside, a familiar trademark of the Weasley clan. Hermione smiled. Though she had left her parents only an hour before, she felt like she coming home for the first time in a very long while.

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A/N: I would love to continue this story, and I'm dying for some feedback. I decided the first and second chapters made more sense put together. I've edited a bit, and I hope everything flows a bit better now. The first chapter or two will focus on description. However, I promise the plot will soon arise (likely a few rumblings in the next chapter). Kindly review and help me decide whether or not to continue this story! Your thoughts and opinions are priceless! 


	2. Hello

Disclaimer: JK Rowling still wins at life.

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Hermione had barely stepped out of the car when she found herself being flung backwards by a flash of red hair. Ginny Weasley, to be more specific, had thrown her arms around Hermione's neck and was making a point of squeezing the life out of her friend.

"Hermione," the younger girl squealed, "I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you as well," Hermione responded. Ginny released her firm grip and stood back happily.

Like her brothers, Ginny was tall with fiery red hair. Her ivory skin was covered with a light dusting of freckles. The wide, beaming grin she wore was contagious and reached all the way into her dark blue eyes.

"Come on," Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and began pulling her towards the house.

"But my things," Hermione tried in vain to reach her trunk in the car.

"Don't worry," Fred called to her. "We'll bring them up for you."

"Thank you!" She very nearly shouted, now already through the front door.

The Burrow was exactly as she remembered. There was a mismatch of furniture crammed into every room, leaving little space to walk. Pots, knitting, Quidditch supplies and any other little knickknack imaginable were lying over every visible surface. An intoxicating aroma spread through the air; its source being the oven in the cozy little kitchen.

There was no time to stand and take notice, though, as Ginny was now pulling her up the stairs. Hermione rushed to keep up with the girl. She was thankful when they finally reached the bedroom and flung open the door.

She noticed an extra bed had been placed in the room. She sat cross-legged on the mattress and looked up at Ginny.

"What's the rush?" Hermione asked, ever so delicately arching an eyebrow in her direction.

"No rush," Ginny flopped onto her own bed. "Just wanted a chance to talk before mum started cramming food down your throat and Ron kidnapped you to help him finish his homework."

"He hasn't finished it yet?" Hermione frowned in disappointment.

"It's Ron," Ginny stated as though that explained everything (which it honestly did). "Of course he hasn't."

"I told him a million times," Hermione sighed with exasperation.

"Yes, well" Ginny shrugged it off. "I suppose it'll be his problem."

"I suppose," Hermione affirmed. "So, moving on, what have you been up to?"

"Well," Ginny instantly perked up, "I've been working really hard on Quidditch all summer. I've really gotten much better."

"You were good before, you know," Hermione commented.

"Yes, but now I'm even better," the excited witch assured. "I just know we'll win the cup this year. Especially since Ron's gotten so much better, finally. And Harry's, well, he's Harry."

"Yes, I know," Hermione nodded, understanding exactly what Ginny meant. Few could handle a broom with the skill Harry could. "Do you still like him then?"

Ginny groaned loudly and buried her head in a nearby pillow.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hermione repressed a laugh. "I'm sure he'll come around in time."

"Oh, yeah," Ginny muttered bitterly. "Especially with you-know-who lurking about. I'm sure he'll have _plenty_ of time to worry about some silly school girl crush."

"He's got a lot to worry about," Hermione explained. "Just let him sort things out. These things do take some patience."

"Damn patience," Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Never did anyone any good."

"You Weasleys are all the same," Hermione laughed. She chose to ignore the glare Ginny sent her way. "Speaking of which," she said quickly. "I suppose I should go find Ron and make finish his essays. Honestly, I don't know what he was thinking by putting everything off until the last minute."

"You have fun with that," Ginny said. "I'm going to help mum finish de-gnoming the garden."

The two girls made their way downstairs before going their separate ways. Hermione followed the route out the back door and down to the makeshift Quidditch pitch. Sure enough, Ron's figure was clearly visible soaring high above the ground. He sped around the pitch with ease and confidence; Hermione almost felt bad about ruining his fun. Almost.

"Ronald Weasley!" She shouted as loudly as possible. In the air, Ron instantly lost his focus and spun around to see who had so rudely interrupted his practice. He broke into a wide, crooked grin upon seeing his bushy haired friend far below.

"Hey Hermione!" He shouted back, slowly descending to where she stood.

"Get down here at once!" She demanded. She wanted very much to break his silly little broom in half, but refrained from doing so. Her face was covered with a look of annoyance, despite her happiness at seeing her old friend.

"Okay!" Ron said, quickly dismounting his broom. He was already well aware of the fact that he was in trouble. Anticipating the lecture he was to receive, the red headed boy warily made his way over to where Hermione stood.

"How could you have put off your homework until the very last minute?" Hermione began, wagging her finger for emphasis. "Are absolutely mad? This is our last year Ronald! We have N.E.W.T.S. to study for and plenty of work to do! Have you-"

"Hermione!" Ron broke in, highly amused despite his friend's flustered state.

"What?" She snapped. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring daggers into his sapphire eyes.

"Relax, will you?" His tanned face was still twisted into that obnoxious smile. "I've only got one essay left. And it's only potions," he tried.

"Only potions?" Hermione questioned, knowing that was his worst subject.

"Just let it go please," Ron very nearly begged. Hermione looked up at his tall, muscular form. He was nearly a foot taller than her. His shoulders were broad and strong, likely from the hours of Quidditch training. He looked nothing like the eleven year old boy she had met all those years ago.

"Fine," she sighed, giving up. "But I'm not writing it for you."

"Of course not," Ron chuckled. "But now can I have a proper hello?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile as he enveloped her in a tight embrace. She closed her eyes happily as he cradled her against his chest. He smelled like summer air, grass and sweat. She inhaled deeply, trying to memorize the moment.

"I've missed your obsessive studying, you know," he mumbled into her hair.

"Mmm," she sighed, lacking the ability to form words as she felt his heart beating under her cheek.

She was more than a little disappointed when he pulled away.

"We should, um," Ron struggled with his words for a moment. "You know, we should, uh, head back inside." He was blushing madly, the bright pink color clashing horribly with his bright orange hair.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, feeling the color rise to her cheeks as well. "I need to say hello to your mother before she gets too involved with her cooking."

"Ah yes," Ron smiled knowingly. "We can't have that, now, can we?"

And so the two teenagers slowly made their way back to the house, laughing and smiling as they went. They were content to be near each other. It was enough, that state of being. For now, at least.

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A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Harry should be arrriving in the next chapter or so. This is a mainly Hr/R story, so forgive me if I ignore the others somewhat. There may be a bit of H/G romance, but I'm highly doubting that. I absolutely adored all of your reviews; they really mean the world to me! Please feel free to leave another!


	3. Around the Dinner Table

Disclaimer: Alas, my attempts at conquering all that is Harry Potter have failed. Enjoy this while I wallow in my misery.

(Sorry for the wait; I was distracted by actual books. I know - it's rather ridiculous)

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It was times like these when the Weasley home was most welcoming, most relaxed. The typical chaos of the brood momentarily subsided and made way for a cool, conversational atmosphere. Mr. Weasley had arrived home only minutes ago. Setting his hat and cloak aside, he had settled comfortably into the living room and began chatting with Ron about his trying day at work. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were rushing around the kitchen as if the world were on the brink of destruction. Spoons stirred casseroles tirelessly as the two witches pointed their wands in every direction. Hermione was content to watch the aging Mrs. Weasley, who still had not lost even an ounce of her vivacious spirit, working quickly in her element. Ginny had years of experience and was able to keep up quite impressively.

A loud explosion from upstairs interrupted the placid mood. Everybody's head instantly snapped toward the stairs, looking for smoke, fire or any other indication that they could be in some sort of mortal peril. Upon finding no such warnings, Mrs. Weasley began muttering under breath and shaking her head in obvious annoyance.

"Arthur!" She shouted with an obvious edge to her voice. "Do something about them."

Anyone having met Fred and George Weasley for more than a second would have easily understood exactly to what she was referring. Mr. Weasley was no exception. He rose slowly from his comfortable seat near the hearth and made his way to the twins' room.

"Hermione, be a dear and tell Ron to set the table," Mrs. Weasley instructed once she was satisfied that her husband was handling the problem.

"Alright," the girl responded brightly. She slid easily off her stool and made her way into the next room.

Ron was sprawled out over an oversized chair in the corner. One leg was propped atop the chipped coffee table while the other stretched across the narrow walkway. His head rested lazily in his hand, likely exhausted from his strenuous practice session. Upon hearing the floorboards voice their loud protests beneath Hermione's feet, he somehow found the energy to crack one eye open. Glancing to the doorway, he found his friend smiling in amusement at his lethargic state.

"Hey," he croaked, sitting up with as much attentiveness as he could muster. "What's going on?"

"Your mother wants you to set the table," she informed him.

"Great," he groaned. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair before rising at last.

"I'll help if you want," Hermione offered kindly.

"I think I can handle it," Ron grinned wearily. "Magic and all that."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione fought the urge to stick her tongue at him like a small child. Ron simply laughed at her annoyance.

With a flick of his wand, Ron summoned six place settings before collapsing into the closest seat. Hermione settled herself next to him.

"When's Harry coming?" She asked. It had been her assumption that he would be arriving the same day she had. However, there was no sign that he would be arriving soon and not a word had been said of it.

"Tomorrow," Ron said. "He's been staying with Lupin for a few weeks."

"I bet he's enjoying that," Hermione was recalling the horrible stories Harry had told of his aunt and uncle. She was glad he had found a real family in Remus Lupin.

"Yeah, probably," Ron agreed with a small smile. "Even though Tonks has been a bit of distraction for dear old Lupin."

"Oh stop it," Hermione pushed him away good-humoredly. "I think it's sweet."

"Oh yes, it's simply adorable," Ron played along with a hearty chortle.

"You are so immature Ronald," she wished desperately that she could hide the wide grin that had crossed her face.

"Well, I do try," he drew himself up with pride before breaking into laughter.

As the two were laughing, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny came bustling in with a long line of dishes floating behind their raised wand. The steaming plates of food quickly found their proper places on the long table. With a loud holler from Molly, the twins and Mr. Weasley came storming down the stairs. The family found their seats in a rush, anxious to delve into the delectable meal before them.

Soon, they were all heaping food onto their plates. For some unfathomable reason, meals at the Weasley's always seemed to entail an almost deafening volume level. The fact that they were all with reaching distance of one another was irrelevant; shouting and yelling overtook normal speaking voices within seconds.

Hermione, sitting between Ron and Ginny, munched on a warm roll. Ron seemed determine to learn exactly how much food he would have to eat before his organs were forced to implode. It was very serious business, this journey towards implosion. There was little conversation while he ate, at least that which involved coherent speech. Having given up on diverting his attention from his mountain of food, Hermione amused herself by talking with Ginny about every trivial concern that a teenaged girl would have.

They ate and ate until not even Ron could gather the willpower to eat another bite. The table was cleared with a simple swish and flick of Mrs. Weasley's wand. Still, the party remained seated, talking and laughing for a very long while. Mr. Weasley spent the time questioning Hermione about the perplexing inner workings of an "airplane." Meanwhile, Ginny and Ron were getting into a rather loud (as are all things involving this particular red-headed family) argument about something involving Quidditch. Mrs. Weasley had taken to lecturing Fred and George about the future consequences of blowing up any portion of the house. The twins assumed an appearance of such innocence that any passing stranger would be slow to believe the mischievous schemes they so often concocted.

The conversation eventually quieted to a dull roar. There was no avoiding the drowsiness that suddenly coursed through their veins, causing jaw-cracking yawns and drooping eyes. Ron was all but snoring, and Hermione wondered briefly if crashing to the floor would be terribly painful.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley suddenly rose. The sleepy blanket that had drifted over them was barely lifted, though. "I suppose it's time we all made our way to bed."

Groggy mumblings and sleepy nods were the only responses she received.

Hermione trudged up the stairs, surprised by how much she ached with tiredness. Ron was not moving much faster than she, nor was Ginny or anybody else for that matter. With a quick goodnight to the rest of the family, Hermione slipped into Ginny's room. She changed into her soft pajamas and then wondered to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Returning to the bedroom, she instantly crashed onto the mattress. She was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

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A/N: I really love this chapter. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm very happy with how it turned out. The elusive Harry Potter will actuallybe arriving in the next chapter (I promise).The Hermione/Ron "get together" won't be happening fora few chapters, but I'm already looking forward to it. Please leave a review; they've really made me keep writing. I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far, and I hope it only gets better. Feel free to leave suggestions, as well. Although, I won't complain if you insist on showering me with praise. ;-) 


	4. Arrivals

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Again.

* * *

Everyone filed down for breakfast early the next morning, all still clad in their pajamas and matted hair. Mr. Weasley skimmed the _Daily Prophet_ in search of any interesting news. The twins were still very much asleep, and Ginny was not in a mood to be crossed. So Hermione was content to sip her orange juice and pester Ron with her ramblings. She had always been a morning person, much to the dismay of almost everyone else. 

In the middle of the meal, a large owl soared through the open kitchen window. It wasted no time in finding a comfortable perch atop Mr. Weasley's chair. The wizard quickly untied the envelopes the bird had been carrying, and he announced that their letters from Hogwarts had at last arrived.

Hermione anxiously opened hers and began scanning the book list. She was thrilled to see that she had already read every one. Ron thumbed through the pages glumly, already loathing the amount of school work he would soon have to endure. A high pitched squeal from Hermione awoke everyone's senses in a heartbeat. In her hand, she held a rather important looking badge. Her eyes shone with shock and delight.

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, coming around to inspect the badge further.

"I…I've…" Hermione simply could not find any words.

"Oh goodness me!" Mrs. Weasley clasped her hands together excitedly. "Hermione's made head girl!"

Shouts of congratulations came from everyone at the table. Only Ginny's sudden embrace made the stunned witch aware that she was indeed still in the company of others. Ron clapped her heartily on the back. He smiled with genuine happiness for his friend. It was no secret that Hermione was one of the cleverest and most dedicated witches to ever enter Hogwarts, and that she should be head girl made perfect sense.

"I can't wait to tell Harry!" Hermione finally managed.

"Yeah, we have to start planning all the things we can get away with now," Ron's eyes glinted deviously.

"Ronald," Hermione said sternly, "You and Harry cannot start breaking rules left and right simply because I'm head girl."

"Start?" Ron appeared deeply wounded by this particular choice of words. "Hermione, you don't give us enough credit."

As much as she would have loved to admonish him for his flippancy towards the rules, her mood was simply too jubilant to do so. She burst into a smile despite her best efforts.

The meal continued in that happy mood. A little later, everyone scattered this way and that, finding ways to busy themselves for the rest of the day. Hermione wandered about with Ron. Harry would be arriving shortly with Lupin in tow.

The pair rested in a large, open meadow. They lay contentedly in the warm sunlight as the grasses danced in the wind. The sky was a perfect blue, not a cloud to be seen for miles. It was the kind of summer morning that made Hermione believe everything would be okay someday.

"Seventh year," Ron sighed heavily.

"Seventh year," she repeated. The sentiment was understood easily between the old friends.

"A lot's changed, hasn't it?" He already knew the answer, of course.

"Mm," Hermione agreed. "Remember when you hated me?"

Ron smiled ruefully. "I never hated you," he mumbled.

"Oh really?" Hermione propped her head on her hand, looking at the boy with curiosity.

"Well, maybe I was a bit annoyed by you," he admitted finally. "But I never hated you." Then, more quietly, he added, "I could never hate you."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He wasn't looking at her; instead his gaze was diverted towards the infinite blue abyss above their heads. Instead of speaking, she could only watch his face. In her mind, she carefully memorized the sharp angle of his jaw line, the gentle curve of his mouth, the way his freckles faded into his tanned skin. He looked at her suddenly, and she quickly glanced away. Crimson fire burned beneath her cheeks.

Luckily, she was saved from her moment of embarrassment by a loud yelling across the clearing.

"Hermione! Ron!" The ever familiar voice called. The pair was on their feet in a matter of seconds, hurrying to meet the final part of their trio.

"Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around the tall, lanky boy. She squeezed him tightly for a moment before moving back. Ron repeated the action, albeit with an air of masculinity.

"Good to see you mate," Ron beamed.

"It's been awhile," Harry gave a lopsided grin. "How have your summers been?"

"Great," Hermione replied enthusiastically.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "And Hermione's just been made head girl."

"Wicked!" Harry exclaimed, wrapping his friend in another tight hug. "You've definitely earned it! And Ron, we're going to get away with so much this year."

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and smiled, deciding to believe they were only kidding.

"Have you already gotten your letters then?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Dumbledore sent yours here as well. Guess he knew you were coming."

"He always knows," Harry shrugged. "Are we going to Diagon Alley tomorrow then?"

"I would think so," Hermione nodded. "We've only got three more days before we go back."

"I'll bet you've made Quidditch captain," Ron nudged Harry.

"You really think so?" The raven haired boy's eyes lit up instantly at the thought.

"Yeah! Come on," Ron said, turning towards the house. Harry was right next to him while Hermione followed a few steps behind, generally unconcerned with any aspect of Quidditch. She knew how much Harry and Ron loved the game, but that was as far as her interest stretched.

The boys had already torn open the letter and were whooping loudly when she entered the house.

"Did you get it?" Hermione grinned, unable to remain indifferent to their excitement.

"Yes!" Harry held the badge out to her proudly.

"Congratulations, Harry," she laughed at his childish disposition.

"Come on, Ron," Harry motioned as he took a seat at the table. "We've got to start working on plays." The boys had produced sheets of parchment, quills and ink within seconds.

"Ron, you still have your potions essay to finish," Hermione reminded him. She knew her words were pointless. The two were already drowning in thoughts of brooms and flying.

"Uh-huh," he muttered absently. "I'll do it later. Promise."

And so Hermione was left with nothing to do but shake her head in frustration. She moved to leave the room, planning to go find Ginny. With one last glance over her shoulder, she could not hide her smile as she watched them draw up plays as if it were their sole purpose in life. There was always time to lecture after dinner.

* * *

A/N: I am **_so_** sorry this update took so long! I had it all ready four days ago, but fanfiction wouldn't upload it for one reason or another. SORRY! I promise I'll put up one or two tomorrow to make up for the wait. Thank you so much for all your reviews! 

And by the way, there are technically three people that write under this user name: me (Kelsey), Caitlin and Emily. We've all written different things; the vast majority of them being parodies. However, I will tell you that none of the parodies contains anything even remotely resembling a plot. Those of in for some stupid humor will be amused, though.


	5. Love and Hate

Disclaimer: Must we do this every time? No it's not mine. And I am slowly giving up the dream that it will ever be mine.

* * *

Diagon Alley had changed very little throughout the course of its unfathomably long existence. The window displays cycled through the newest fads and fashions, the only hint that time had indeed passed. The buildings had been built at every possibly angle, and some were held up only by the wonderful gift of magic. Had any muggle made their way into the crooked little street, they would have surely thought an earthquake had violently thrown the buildings into their odd positions.

The large group stood outside of Gringotts. Their pockets were weighted with money to be spent on schoolbooks and such. Mrs. Weasley said something to the children, but her voice was drowned out by the large crowd bustling through their daily lives. Two flashes of red hair were barely visible as Mrs. Weasley pulled her only daughter away from the trio of friends.

"Books first?" Harry shouted over the din of the afternoon. Ron and Hermione nodded and followed the dark-haired boy through the throng of witches and wizards. The bookstore was much less crowded, thankfully, and they were able to do their shopping in relative peace.

* * *

"Well that's done," Ron announced as they left the potion supply store.

"Yeah, finally," Harry sighed in an annoyed sort of relief. "How about some butter beers at The Leaky Cauldron?"

"Great!" Hermione quickly agreed.

The three crossed the street and promptly entered the old pub. Greeted with the smell of whiskey and dust, they wasted little time ordering their drinks and finding a table. Hermione sat next to Harry, a mountain of their purchase spread between them on the long booth.

"This is weird," Harry stated out of the blue.

"What?" Ron asked, looking rather perplexed.

"We're almost done," Harry explained. "This is our last year."

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. She remembered her conversation with Ron, knowing all of them were feeling the same.

"What are we supposed to do? After school's done and all," Ron wondered aloud.

"I'd like to be an Auror," Harry stated resolutely. "I've talked to Tonks about it, and she's given me some reading to do. I think I'd be good at it."

"Yeah," the red-haired boy nodded. "You're good at that stuff. Maybe I'll play Quidditch."

"That's your plan?" Hermione looked mildly appalled.

"Well, I've practiced really hard!" Ron exclaimed defensively.

"But still," Hermione interrupted before he could continue. "It's not a very secure future. Do have any other thoughts? Any backups?"

"No, Hermione, I don't," Ron ground out. He was fighting with himself now, trying to control his loose temper. Finally he sighed a jammed a hand through his hair. "It was just a thought," he mumbled dejectedly.

Harry shot Hermione a look telling her she been a bit harsh. She wanted to argue her point, but Ron's suddenly miserable state prevented her from doing so. With an aggravated huff, she turned back to the object of her previous lecturing.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said sincerely. "I shouldn't have jumped at you like that."

"You've got a point," Ron shrugged as if it didn't matter. Both Harry and Hermione knew he was bothered, but the conversation was unarguably closed.

"So, um," Harry broke the awkward silence that had filtered over the table. "I hear Tonks is teaching defense this year."

"Really?" Ron and Hermione both asked in unison, their curiosity piqued.

"Yeah," Harry repressed an internal sigh of relief. The bickering was over, for now. "She was talking to Remus about lesson plans and all that. Dumbledore thought it would help the Order to have her closer to Hogwarts."

"How so?" Hermione questioned. This last sentence had triggered a silent alarm in her mind. Did the Order need to be closer? Was Harry facing some imminent threat? Was Voldemort gaining strength?

"I'm not sure," Harry said, sensing her sudden apprehension. "But I wouldn't worry about it. If we were in serious danger, Dumbledore would have warned us by now."

"I guess so," Hermione admitted. His words had soothed her worried somewhat. Taking a long drink, she was able to push most of her concerns out of her train of thought.

"Tonks is going to be one wicked teacher," Ron beamed.

"Assuming she doesn't break everything in the classroom," Harry returned the grin. All three laughed loudly at the thought.

"I'll bet she'll teach us a ton of new defense spells," Hermione couldn't keep her enthusiasm restrained. Her eyes shone with the thought of the knowledge she would soon possess.

"Oh please, Hermione," Ron groaned. "Don't ruin a perfectly good conversation with all this 'learning' nonsense."

Harry laughed into his drink, coughing loudly as he tried not to choke. Hermione only glared across the table at the other, presently not-choking boy.

"You alright mate?" Ron asked, avoiding Hermione's stare.

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "Just, um, you know, the breathing thing wasn't working too well."

"Yeah," Ron smiled, leaning back into the cushion. "So," he turned brightly to the somewhat less angry witch. "What exactly does this 'head girl' business mean?"

"Well," Hermione quickly forgot any unkind feelings and smiled widely. "I'll mostly have to do rounds, coordinate Hogsmead visits and inform the prefects of their duties. Other than that, I suppose it's up to Dumbledore."

"Oh, I heard somebody say Ernie McMillan was head boy," Harry interjected.

"Really? He's so sweet," Hermione felt elated. She had been worried she would have to work with a complete stranger or another abrasive individual. In her happiness, she didn't even notice the pained looked that quickly shot over Ron's face.

"He's not that great," the boy mumbled.

"Oh Ron, don't be stupid," Hermione brushed him off. "Ernie's nice and smart. Plus, he's responsible, unlike some people," she continued with a pointed look towards Ron.

"I'm responsible!" He instantly retorted.

"About what? Not including Quidditch," Hermione crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

"Just because you're so bloody perfect doesn't mean I'm a complete moron," Ron shouting rather loudly, avoiding the question and drawing much unwanted attention to the secluded booth.

"Um-" Harry tried to think of a way to calm the storm, but there was simply no stopping the two.

"I never said that, Ronald!" Hermione's pitch had now risen as well. Harry slumped lower in seat, wondering if he should just apparate out of the noisy pub. A nagging feeling that he would be leaving Ron to a most painful death prevented him from doing so, however.

"You practically did! You're always acting like you're above everyone else! You're always nagging everyone about everything!" Ron was ranting by now. He knew he was beingunreasonable, but the words flew out of his mouth before they could be stopped.

"I do not nag!" Hermione yelled indignantly.

"Oh of course not," Ron's voice was oozing with sarcasm. "Who are you fooling? All I ever hear is how much I don't study, how stupid my plans are, how lazy I am-"

"But you never study!" Hermione interrupted. "If you put as much effort into studying as you do into Quidditch-"

"I would like to have a life outside of a library, Hermione!" Ron yelled over her shrieking.

"Fine!" Hermione shouted back at him. She gathered her things in record time and rose from the table. "I'll just leave you to it then!" Turning on her heel, the livid witch stormed out of the pub and went to find Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. The eyes that had been watching the argument unfold quickly returned to their own drinks and conversations.

"Was that really necessary?" Harry asked after Ron had calmed down a bit.

"Yes," Ron spat stubbornly. Harry sent him a disbelieving look. Ron sighed heavily, "Let's just go."

In considerably lower spirits and lacking one third of their group, the two boys exited the small building. They met up with the women, who had also finished with their shopping. Ron and Hermione did not speak a word to one another, did not exchange a single glance. Harry hoped this was just another petty squabble that would pass quickly. They were leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow, and they would soon plunge headfirst into their final year of school. Surely things would work themselves out before they reached the train station.

* * *

A/N: This one was up a little sooner. Hope you liked it! Leave me a review and let me know what you think!


	6. Ignorance is Bliss

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sorry to crush your dreams.

* * *

Alas, the tension between Ron and Hermione did not lift. The cold indifference they now shared seemed worse than any amount of yelling and screaming. Harry was left very much confused and hesitant to take sides between his two best friends. The whole argument had seemed rather bizarre, and it was a mystery why the two had reacted so strongly.

Dinner time had drug excruciatingly long time. Ron and Hermione sat on opposite ends of the table, sending the other a hardened glare every so often. When finally the meal had ended, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he would be able to make his way upstairs for a well deserved repose from the awkward conflict. He slipped beneath the covers of the extra mattress while Ron sat at an old desk, hurriedly finishing his potions essay. Harry fell asleep in the comforting room, breathing in the scents he knew he'd miss.

The morning came far too early. Hermione buried her head beneath the blankets in hopes of grasping one last moment of sleep. This was not to be, however, as Mrs. Weasley's voice flooded the tiny bedroom, demanding they get out of bed at once. Both girls did so, and they made their way downstairs with a clumsy drowsiness surrounding them.

"Morning," Harry grunted from the kitchen table. He and Ron both looked as if they were still asleep.

"Morning," Ginny and Hermione both mumbled in return. The meal commenced in silence. It took all Hermione's energy not to fall asleep in her porridge.

Exactly twenty minutes later, all the plates had been whisked into the kitchen and the four students rushed upstairs to get ready. Fred and George may have made a few off-handed comments about being able to sleep in as late as they wanted to, but there was hardly anytime to listen.

Hermione was done before anyone else, as usual. Ginny and Harry followed soon after. Naturally, Ron lagged behind. His mother more or less had to shove him out the door and into the car.

"Honestly," Hermione sighed as the group packed into the car. "You're going to make us late, Ronald."

"Oh bugger off," Ron spat. For the rest of the car ride, the two continued their almost routine obliviousness of the other. Harry, sitting between his two quarreling friends, glanced awkwardly at Ginny. She smiled helplessly. There was little to be said when Ron and Hermione fell into one of their moods.

Oftentimes, Ginny wished she could say something. These arguments were truly ridiculous. The next few days would consist of Hermione informing Ginny exactly why Ron was a lazy, good-for-nothing procrastinator. Meanwhile, Ron would describe Hermione's more unflattering personality traits to Harry. And as these endless rants fell upon their ears, the listeners would have to restrain themselves from attempting to shake some sense into the pair. For, you see, the only people who were not aware that Ron and Hermione were truly and irreversibly in love were Ron and Hermione.

And so the minutes passed by with an odd clash of silence from the four students and a constant flow of words from the worrying mother in the front seat. Ginny and Harry all but leapt out of the cramped car when King's Cross Station finally appeared in the distance.

The station wasn't too busy. A few dazed tourists were furiously studying maps and departure times near platform nine. The group slid easily through the brick barrier, arriving in all the chaos of the Hogwarts student body.

"Let's get this stuff on the train!" Harry shouted to Ron. The other boy nodded in agreement.

The two quickly piled all four trunks onto the train and shoved them into an empty compartment. They scampered back onto the platform in mere seconds. Not wanting to incur the wrath of Mrs. Weasley, all four bid the matronly witch and her kind husband an emotional farewell. The loud screeching of the engine's whistle signaled their departure was imminent, and all four piled onboard, shouting goodbyes and waving enthusiastically.

"I'll catch up with you later," Hermione called to the other three. "I've got a heads meeting."

"Will you be long?" Ginny asked. She really did not want to be stuck in a tiny compartment with only her moody brother and long time crush.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, her voice tinged with sympathy. "I hope not."

"Okay," the girl sighed. "Well, I'll catch up with you later."

"Alright," Hermione smiled briefly before running off to the heads' compartment.

Ron plopped unceremoniously into the corner seat of the compartment. Without saying a word, he proceeded to glare angrily out the window. Harry sat across from him; he knew well enough to wait for Ron to speak first.

"She's so bloody annoying," Ron grumbled finally. Harry's shoulder's sagged a bit, knowing where this conversation would end up.

"You're both overreacting," Harry made his sad attempt at reason.

"I am not overreacting!" Ron snapped with a stern glare.

"Are too," Ginny mumbled.

"Piss off," her brother growled.

"Gladly," Ginny rose with a murderous glance at Ron. She slammed the door behind her with impressive force.

"Don't make this such a big deal," Harry said calmly. "It's our last year. Can't we just start things off on the right foot?"

"If she would just relax then we wouldn't be having this problem!" Ron exclaimed, freeing himself of any blame. "It's always the same with her, and you know it!"

"Yes, but it's Hermione," Harry stated. "That's just how she is. We've been friends with her since first year! And don't tell me you're completely innocent."

"I didn't do anything!" Ron denied stubbornly. "She's the one who started the whole thing."

"You're being childish," the torn wizard found himself growing rather frustrated.

"I am not! Why do you always take her side?" Ron sent him an accusing look.

"I'm not on anyone's side," Harry held up his hands in innocence. "I just don't want this ridiculous argument to spoil the beginning of our last year!"

"Well, if she wants to apologize, then I'll happily let things go," Ron crossed his arms over his broad chest. His gaze returned to the green landscape rushing by. Harry knew the conversation was closed.

Hermione returned shortly after, ignoring the tension in the air. Excitement and happiness covered her face. She fell into the seat next to Harry and instantly began informing him of every detail of the meeting, leaving Ron to sulk. She babbled on and on about obscure details, and Harry listened to it all with a well practiced look of interest. He was more than relieved when Ginny returned at long last.

"We should be pulling up in five minutes," she stated, reaching for her trunk. "Better change into your robes."

"Oh my!" Hermione instantly scrambled to find her own trunk. "I'm sorry Harry; I didn't realize I'd been talking that long."

"Don't worry about it." He was used to the girl's passionate babblings, and he was secretly glad he hadn't been caught in the middle of another fight.

The four pulled their robes on quickly. In the window, Hogwarts stood as grand as ever. It was strange for the three oldest students in the compartment. They knew this would be the last time they ever saw the castle quite like this. A look of wistfulness crossed their faces, and they stood in unmoving silence.

"Um, guys," Ginny broke the strange moment. "We do need to leave."

"Right, of course," Hermione sprung back into action and grabbed her trunk.

They left their compartment one after the other. Ginny had begun talking to another sixth year Gryffindor girl, and the two were giggling happily as they left the train. Harry waved to Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. His old friends congratulated him on making Quidditch captain, and the conversation instantly changed to talks of new strategies and plays. Behind them all trudged Ron and Hermione. Several of their classmates shouted greetings at them, but their words fell on deaf ears. For at that moment, both were focusing their undivided attention on pretending the other did not exist.

* * *

A/N: This lovely argument (which is rather frustrating to write) will be coming to an end soon. I don't like it either, but it's necessary for my plan (hint, hint). This chapter was hard to write for some reason. Let me know what you think. The good part is coming very soon; I'm thinking the next chapter would be an excellent place. I'm sure drama and whatnot will also arise, but a little Ron and Hermione romance can fix all that!


	7. Breathe

Disclaimer: No. Just no.

A/N: Sorry this update took so long! I was on vacation and was unfortunately without a computer (the greatest of human tragedies). To make up for it, I bring you a nice, long, good (winkwink) update. Enjoy!

* * *

The first three days had done little to improve the state of affairs between Ron and Hermione. Although they were now far too distracted by schoolwork to bother with long, overdramatic arguments, the pair had barely spoken more than a few words since arriving. Nobody was particularly sure why they were so upset with each other, and Hermione had admitted that she was indeed a bit hazy on the details. However, this was a matter of pride; something neither was willing to relinquish. So it was headfirst into homework and studying, for Hermione at least.

The Professors seemed blissfully unaware that their seventh year students might have wanted to truly enjoy their final year and had wasted no time piling on the workload. Snape and McGonagall appeared to be in a fierce competition as to who could assign the most homework, and it was currently a contest far too close to call. After their first classes, Ron and Harry had returned to the common room looking a bit paler than usual. Hermione had refrained from complaining, naturally, and had instead gotten to work on her Transfiguration essay.

The only hope Ron and Harry had left to cling to was Quidditch. They had wasted no time in making their way down to the pitch, and the boys had spent a good hour commenting on how excited they were to be getting back on their brooms. Ron was particularly anxious, as he had become accustomed to flying everyday. Needless to say, four flying-free days were a most cruel and unusual method of torture for the red haired wizard.

* * *

"I think we should start Quidditch try outs this weekend," Harry announced during breakfast. It was the second week of school, and the masses had fallen into their routines. To Harry, this was the perfect time to bring some much needed life to a rather stressed group of Gryffindors.

"Yeah," Ron instantly perked up. Harry had been right. "That would be wicked."

"Yes, just fantastic," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"I've been practicing Harry," Seamus commented, looking quite proud. "You won't find a better beater!"

"I'm sure," Harry laughed at the table's new, sunny disposition. "I'll talk with McGonagall about reserving the pitch for Saturday, then."

Enthusiastic talk of the coming weekend filled the air, much to Hermione's dismay. Gathering her books and checking her watch, she rose from the table.

"I'll see you in class," she nodded to Harry and Ron. "Don't be late."

"See you," Harry quickly smiled up at her before returning to his earlier conversation. Ron simply ignored her, as she had grown used to.

Hermione sighed affectedly and made her way out of the Great Hall. She was content to wander for a while; Charms, her first class of that Tuesday morning, did not begin for a good half hour. Paintings she'd seen a thousand times before floated by unacknowledged by the young woman. Her eyes were sad and distant, unnoticing of anything around her.

She didn't know why being mad at Ron bothered her so much. It wasn't as if they hadn't fought before. Quite the opposite, in fact, it was civil conversation that was an oddity between the two. However, this time was different. She was fully aware that they were both overreacting, but she could not find the will to apologize or move on. Many sleepless nights had gone by in the last two weeks, and Hermione was finding that she could barely handle the stress of their argument.

With a heavy heart, Hermione found herself at the door of the Charms classroom. She entered the empty room and sunk into her regular seat. Parchment, quills and ink were quickly drawn out and placed on the table. The other students would not be arriving for a while yet, and so Hermione propped her head on her hand and gazed at the chalkboard.

"He is such a prat," she mumbled to no one. "And the way he's behaving is just childish. I don't understand how I ever put up with him," she continued in a less than sure tone. "Perhaps it's better that we're not speaking. Now I don't have to worry about him and I can focus on studying. Yes, it's really all for the best."

Hermione smiled happily, content that she had justified everything in her mind. But it took only a sudden flash of that quiet summer evening at the Burrow to erase any happy thoughts. The witch groaned loudly and buried her head in her hands. How she wished she could go back to only a few short weeks ago. Lying in the grass beneath the warm sun, talking quietly with Ron – that was all she really wanted at the moment.

But it was not to be. For at that moment, a group of Gryffindors burst through the doorway, talking loudly and pulling Hermione from her self pity. Class would be starting soon, and she had no time to waste on her own misery.

* * *

The day had been long, far too long for Ron's liking. Charms had been quite possibly the longest hour and a half of his life. And potions…well, potions was potions. Snape had seemed in a particularly foul mood, even in comparison with his normally bitter demeanor. Defense had been tolerable, but Tonks had informed them they would be having a quiz the next day and more or less ruined the lesson for Ron. For the past hour, he'd been making slow progress on his mountain of homework.

He heard Hermione's voice from the far side of the common room. Wincing slightly, he tried desperately to focus on his open book. The sounds of the portrait swinging open and the sudden quietness assured Ron that he would be spared any awkward conversation. Letting his shoulders sag just slightly, he felt the smallest tinge of disappointment creep through him.

"You could just talk to her," Ginny's voice interrupted his silence, sending him jumping nearly a foot in his chair.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore. "Don't do that Ginny!"

"Do what?" His sister asked innocently.

"Sneak up on people! You could have bloody well scared me to death!" Ron glared at the girl now sitting across the table from him.

"So close," Ginny sighed. "But that's not the point."

"What?" Ron looked perplexed, unsure of what the girl had said before.

"Don't be so thick, Ron," she snapped. "You and Hermione."

"Oh," was all he replied.

"Yes, 'Oh,'" Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You should really get over your stupid little fight."

"Would you mind your own business?" Ron spat at her, pretending to go back to his schoolwork.

"Do you even know what you're mad about?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Ron answered a little too quickly. It was a lie, of course, and they both knew it.

"Really?" Ginny looked curious, in that annoying and horribly sarcastic sort of way. "Well then, what is it?"

"None of your bloody business," he growled. He wished dearly he hadn't left his wand lying upstairs; a good many hexes were rapidly swirling through his thoughts.

"Yes, that's what I thought," the witch shook her head sadly. A moment of silence passed before she stood to leave. As she passed, the girl called over her shoulder, "I'll bet you miss her just as much as she misses you."

He didn't want to let her bother him, but she was just so painfully right that there was really nothing he could do. Truth be told, Ron had forgotten what started the argument long ago. That didn't stop him from prolonging the conflict, of course, but it did weigh heavily on his conscience. Most of the time, it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down and begging for help on some ridiculous assignment. Yet he had managed, somehow.

"Stupid Ginny," his voice oozed with resentment. Glancing out the window just beyond the table, Ron found the sun was still shining brightly across the grounds. He snapped his book shut and stuffed everything back inside his bag. The chair was flung back as the boy hurried toward the boys' staircase. He took the stairs two at a time and was in his dormitory in a matter of seconds. The schoolbag was tossed carelessly onto his four poster bed. From within the large trunk, Ron drew out his most prized possession: his broom.

The castle seemed a blur as he rushed out to the pitch. The lawn was soon beneath his feet; he was vaguely aware that he was running, but could focus only on the prospect of flying. He ran through the towering stands and found himself standing on his dearly beloved Quidditch pitch. Filling his lungs with the crisp air, he mounted his broom and kicked off.

He rose until he was even with the top of the tallest goal post before beginning his path around the pitch. The speed was slow at first, but as the minutes ticked by, he moved faster and faster. The wind was crushing against his muscles and all the world was a foggy haze to his eyes, but it didn't matter. This was why he loved flying.

He flew until he was good and tired, until he was sure his body would give out and he would fall to his death. Choosing to avoid this particularly painful scenario, he slowed his pace to almost a crawl. With a wide, exhausted grin, he was just beginning his descent when a flash of frizzy, brown hair in the stands caught his eye.

* * *

She wasn't even sure how she had ended up sitting there. One minute, she had been putting away her just finished homework, and the next she was sitting in the stands overlooking an empty Quidditch pitch. She'd felt a wave of nerves come over her when Ron had burst onto the field. He'd ignored her, of course, but she couldn't say if he had done so intentionally or not. She had watched Ron fly for over an hour. The sun was setting in the sky, casting a deep orange glow over the landscape. She couldn't help but notice how perfect he looked in the light as he looked directly at her for the first time in a very long while.

For a moment, he seriously considered continuing back to the ground and pretending he had never seen her. Before he could process that thought, however, he felt himself guiding the broom over to where she sat. He jumped off with a grace built up by countless hours of practice and stood hesitantly across the aisle from the surprised looking witch.

"Hi," Hermione finally managed after a long, tense silence.

"Hi," Ron answered quietly.

"Um," Hermione searched for something, anything to say. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Sure," he quickly plopped onto the space next to her. He was oddly aware of a tingling just beneath his skin as his hand brushed her arm.

"So, um, how have you been?" Hermione tried lamely.

"Good," Ron nodded, feeling like a bumbling eleven year old. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Hermione smile awkwardly. "Are you ready for that Defense exam tomorrow?"

"I think so," he answered, preferring not to talk about schoolwork.

"I could help you if you'd like," she offered, knowing he probably hadn't even begun to study.

"I don't need your help, Hermione," Ron's voice was full of annoyance. He cringed inwardly, knowing an argument was about to erupt and wishing he could take the words back.

"I was just trying to be friendly, Ronald," Hermione retorted with a scowl that would put even Draco Malfoy to shame.

"Of course you were," he mumbled.

"Why do you have to make a big deal over everything?" Her loud voice was only intensified by the vacant field below.

"Why do you always have to bring up school?" Ron combated easily, matching her volume.

"You are so infuriating!" She shouted at him. Standing in a huff, she grabbed her bag from the bench. "I don't know why I bother!"

"Well then don't!" Ron stood, towering above her tiny frame.

"Trust me, I won't!" She turned to leave, but was stopped by a sudden pull on her wrist.

Ron had reached out and taken hold of her wrist, pulling her back to face him. She stumbled slightly, dropping her bag in the process. Her free hand instantly flew to where he held her wrist, and her face contorted in rage.

"Let go!" She shouted, trying to pry her arm free.

"No," he said simply, no trace of anger in his voice.

She opened her mouth to yell some meaningless insult, but the words never left her mouth. Ron stepped forward, covering the remaining distance between them. Without loosening his grip on her wrist even the smallest bit, he brought his lips crashing onto hers. Hermione froze, incapable of even the most basic human thoughts for the first time in her life. She felt his lips on hers, smelled his ever familiar scent – grass and sweat – but she couldn't accept that it was happening, that the boy she'd loved since first year was actually holding her against him as he kissed her with more passion than she'd thought possible.

He pulled back suddenly, just as shocked as Hermione. He hadn't planned to kiss her, but he didn't regret doing so, not in the least. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed as if she were struggling to think. This last bit surprised him most of all.

'She's beautiful when she doesn't know what to do,' he thought. He made a mental note of exactly how she looked, knowing this may be the first, last and only time he would ever see her even remotely unsure of herself.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times. At this point, remembering to breathe was amounting to the task of the century. Forming actual words seemed to be an impossibility in her mind. She took a deep, shaky breath before finally speaking.

"Just so you know," she managed in barely a whisper. "I am still very mad at you."

She pulled her hand from his grasp and immediately brought it to the nape of his neck, pulling him down into fervent kiss. Her other hand wound its way into his thick, shaggy hair as he moved his soft lips over hers. He smiled into the kiss, losing one hand in her bushy mane while the other rested on the small of her back. The kiss grew slow and deep. Hermione felt her knees give out, but Ron's arms pulled her even closer against him. Finally, a lack of oxygen forced their lips to break apart. Hermione silently cursed breathing and all its ridiculous inconveniences.

Ron beamed down at her and she happily returned the smile. She laid her head against his chest, hearing his heart pound beneath her ear. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rhythm.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Hermione whispered, the smile audible in her voice.

"I think I have some idea," he laughed softly.

"Let's never fight again," Hermione suggested, looking up at him. He returned he gaze with one of utter disbelief. After a second, both were laughing loudly.

"Yeah, that'll happen," Ron chuckled.

"It was just an idea, you prat," Hermione wrapped her arms just a little tighter around him, returning to the beat of his heart.

"You're always full of ideas, aren't you?" He asked with a bemused, lopsided grin.

"Always," she replied with a smile.

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A/N: This was difficult to write; I wanted to make sure it was exactly right. I think it turned out good, and I hope now you understand the purpose of the argument (score one for planning). Let me know if it was worth all the bad stuff!


	8. A Fleeting Euphoria

Disclaimer: the war on JK Rowling and all her _Harry Potter_ glory has proven a miserable failure.

A/N: I got busy and then I forgot for a really long time. Sorry/I'll never do it again! For what it's worth, I have the next five chapters planned out.

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His broom lay strewn across the browning grass of late summer. The brilliant sun shone like an orb in the sky, its beams twisting in the branches of the trees below. Ron allowed his limbs to stretch comfortably in the shade while his back leaned against the rough bark. Only a foot away, Hermione crouched on a smooth root that had emerged from the hardened earth. Her body was compactly positioned, with her knees drawn up and her elbows resting atop them. She smiled foolishly at Ron's shy demeanor. Blue eyes were hidden beneath the mangy red strands, darting out occasionally to meet her chocolate ones. It was a scene shared by millions of lovers too shy to recognize the perfection they experienced.

"Hermione?" His baritone rumbled in the still air.

"Yeah?" She responded, glad to meet his eyes once more.

"You're not really still mad at me, are you?" The spark of a dulled fear was present in his tone. Combined with Hermione's elated mood, it was particularly difficult to stifle her amusement.

"No, Ron," she chuckled lightly. "I think you found an excellent solution to our disagreement."

"Really?" He smiled mischievously. "And what would that be?"

Matching his grin, Hermione gently pushed herself forward, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. With only inches between her lips and his, she whispered, "This." Soon she felt his mouth against her own, a smile behind each.

The kiss was short and ended in a sort of embarrassed and jubilant laughter. Hermione returned to her perch as Ron brushed the hair from his eyes.

"If that is the solution," he began with an even wider grin, "I suggest we argue on a regular basis."

"We already argue on a regular basis," Hermione reminded him.

"I knew all those years of your nagging couldn't have been for nothing," Ron stared across the grounds with a pensive visage. "I believe we've made excellent headway."

"I do not nag, you prat," Hermione retorted. The words were angry on paper, but her voice was otherwise incapable of possessing anything other than a playful tone.

"Come on Hermione," Ron laughed heartily, "We both know that is a lie."

"Bugger off," Hermione rose from her seat, willing herself to appear somewhat upset. It was a losing victory. She was secretly thankful the only witness to her ridiculous ecstasy was the sunlight of the early evening.

"If I kissed," Ron rose as well, grabbing his broom from the ground, "Would you forgive me?"

"I don't think so, Ronald," Hermione bit her lip to hold back the smile.

He kissed her anyway, refusing to believe all problems could not be solved in this way. In his euphoric, albeit hormonal state of mind, he knew nothing of Voldemort or years of rampant evil. Wars would bow before a passion like this.

It would be fleeting, this solace. But while they could entertain its thoughts, the two lovers would most certainly enjoy its every moment.

"We're going to miss dinner," Hermione mumbled against his lips. Her arms were wrapped about his neck, a feat achieved only be standing on her tip-toes.

"Mmm, we wouldn't want that," Ron responded. His eyes were closed, refusing to wake from this dreamlike reality.

"No," Hermione agreed to a point she couldn't recall. They stood enveloped in one another for a long while.

The problem with perfection, when shared among two people, is that the rest of the world cannot not help but interfere. Friends, family, strangers all must remind the blissful pair that there are, in fact, certain obligations they have in society. Perfection has little time for reality, and reality has little tolerance for perfection.

It was from this oasis Ron and Hermione returned to Hogwarts. Their hands were clasped, carrying a tiny piece of their private moment with them forever. When they pulled apart before the Great Hall, their palms still burned with the memory.

A single glance elicited the tacit agreement that they would not mention their suddenly altered relationship. Arguing would be impossible with such effervescent emotions simmering beneath the layers of their skin. No one would question them; anger was often as fleeting as the shy smiles Ron and Hermione exchanged across the long table.

Harry was perhaps the only one to question the change in his friends. Years of experience had made him preternaturally adept to deciphering the complex relationship shared by his two best friends. It was perhaps this natural ability that allowed Harry to recognize the necessity of silence. While not well versed in the art of patience, the young wizard possessed an unrestrained compassion and understanding for those he loved.

Later that night, Hermione lay in bed, unable to sleep. She felt a rush in her heart and would swear against her own sensibility that she could feel the magic pulsing through her veins. A solitary moment with Ron was proven to impossible after the students had flooded back to their houses. Within the Gryffindor common room, Hermione had watched Ron and Harry feign intense concentration on their Defense Against the Dark Arts notes before moving on to their endless supply of Quidditch plays. She found words unnecessary as she reveled in the regular glances he cast upon her in the light of the crackling fire.

Hermione had drawn the curtains around her bed closed, refusing to let the trivialities surrounding her infiltrate her untarnished memories. She replayed minutes as though they were lifetimes, each word and each smile holding a reason to fall in love all over again. Always logical, Hermione tried to reason that she was simply experiencing a momentary high from her joyous afternoon. Yet the wind against the window panes rejected this idea. In the infinite expanse of her four-poster bed, the third from the door in the seventh-year dormitory, Hermione smiled into the night. A single beam of moonlight filtered through the red material hung all around. For the first time in her admittedly short existence, Hermione ignored the logical side of her brain. This moment, this reality was bigger than her. Who was she to argue?

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Review!! Please? Even if it's just to be mad at me for taking so long! 


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